Carousel
by gabz33
Summary: Infatuation is instant desire. It’s one set of glands calling to another. Love is friendship that has caught fire. It takes root and grows – one day at a time. You never know when one of them will hit – and how hard you’ll fall.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_  
__All she wants to do is get rid of this hell  
When all she's got to do is stop kidding herself__  
_

I think that that the goth movement should be abolished, for the simple reason that they spread the rumor that cutting – slashing wrists – slitting veins – whatever your preferred name – is made simpler by using a razor blade.

Boy, are they ever wrong.

I hold the razor to my wrist and shakily, for the hundredth time, try to cut through my skin. When it doesn't yield, I want to just jump off the Astronomy Tower and be done with it; instead, I draw the blade over my skin again, hoping to achieve the calm that comes with the adrenaline that comes with the loss of blood. I've been hoping that for the past 15 minutes.

I want to live. I don't want to die. All I want to do is calm down. Calm…a foreign concept to me. I knew it once, long ago. Now – it evades me.

"Dam.n cheap razors," I mutter. I let the hand with the razor fall to my side.

Goths aren't idiots. They know what they're doing (unlike me). The reason that razor blades work for them is because they [iwant[/i to harm themselves. Me? I'm not strong enough. I don't have enough willpower. I am too [iweak[/i.

I hate being weak.

The hand with the razor springs to life. The razor is applied to the wrist; the hand closes into a fist, outlining the veins; the razor presses down; it is dragged across the vein –

The river opens. The vein is cut; my goal is achieved. I wake out of my trance-like stupor, staring at the gush of blood trailing down my arm. A long-lost feeling washes over me, and I nearly weep with relief; I am calm.

As I gaze at the flowing blood, thoughts flit through my head. Traitorous thoughts. About times forgotten, times when I was happy and carefree (carefree…what is that?), when I had people to talk to, people who could calm me down. A time when I could fend for myself, help myself without harming myself. A time when I could feel.

Those feelings are what brought me to this, this search for calm.

I lean my head back against the door of the bathroom stall. [iNow that you've reached your goal, what are you going to do?[/i a hidden voice taunted me. [iYou can't bring her back. You can't fix the past.[/i

[iShut up,[/i I instructed the voice calmly (calm…I am calm). [iEverything's going to be alright now.[/i

The blood continues to gush silently down my arm. As the calmness ebbs away, my panic grows – but so does the feeling of weakness, helplessness.

My last though before I slip into unconsciousness is – where am I running to?

And why?

_She can only fool herself for so long – _

_I'm too weak to face me_


	2. Chapter 1

_Start off every day with a smile and get it over with. -W. C. Fields (1880-1946)_

**thisisadivider.thisisadivider.thisisadivider**

Nature is so beautiful. Twirling through the field of wildflowers, I distinctly felt half of the delicate daisies and dandelions being thoroughly crushed under my big feet. They wouldn't be crushed if I was barefoot, but I was wearing my yellow Day-Glo™ Converse All-Stars. Go figure.

I stopped, and frowned at my ensemble. Dark blue jeans, paired with a Yankees sweatshirt. Funny, both items were burned by my mom a few weeks ago when they became more holes than cloth. They were whole now. I figured that I must be dreaming.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up; I whirled around, and slammed into a wall. Or was it? It was soft, and covered with a jean jacket. Hmm…this is a very _good_ dream…

"Kayden," I said, breathless from running across the field. "What're you doing here?" He smiled; he grasped my wrists and bent to say something in my ear. His breath tickled my lobe, and he whispered…

"Get up, sleeping beauty!"

I opened my eyes and saw – instead of blue sky – my ceiling, painted lilac and dotted with stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars; some of them were about to come off, dangling on the last strings of glue.

"When are you going to clean the bathroom?" My mom was standing in the doorway (she probably noticed the stars, too), fists planted on hips, glaring at me. I raised my head from the pillow, gave her a bleary stare, turned over and closed my eyes. "When I get out of bed," I muttered. Hopefully never.

"I expect you to be downstairs within 10 minutes with a scrub brush in your hand and a brushed coiffure," she declared, and walked out of the room before I could respond.

"But Mom…" I called after her. "We don't have any scrub brushes!"

**thisisadivider.thisisadivider.thisisadivider**

Snap…fizzle. Snap…fizzle. Snap…FWOOM!

I blinked. The igniter worked, but a bit too late. I think my eyebrows singed.

I hurriedly put the kettle onto the burner, and pushed my big yellow coffee mug closer to the stove. After scrubbing the bathroom, I did the laundry and ironed my dad's shirts for work (he pays me 2 pounds a shirt, so why not?) and went shopping for milk and cottage cheese. My mom gets them fresh every morning, but since her slave (namely me) was up earlier than 12 PM, she decided to send me to get her provisions.

The phone rang. I muttered under my breath at the person who would call at this ungodly hour; then again, it was 10:00 AM already, so it wasn't so ungodly – to people who didn't get up at 6:00 AM.

I picked it up. "Hello, this is Tower Insurance Company representative Holly; may I please speak to Mrs. Sangster?" I groaned inwardly; it was the da.mn insurance company again.

"She's not here right now, may I take a message?" I said sweetly into the phone. When I speak sweetly, people back away. This little chit didn't know me.

The rep said, "Of course. Will you please tell her that we have the check that covers the losses? It's waiting for her in our Castlebar branch. If there are any problems she can call us."

"Okay. Thanks. Buh-bye," I said into the phone and then slammed it down. I HATE that insurance company. The ship with our whole house (building not included) had a freak accident and, somehow, 'forgot' our furniture and more than half of our possessions at the New York dock. The insurance company was trying to get our stuff here ASAP, but meanwhile, we were stuck with grievance pay from the agency and what we had with us on the plane.

I needed the lift here ASAP, considering the fact that all my books were there, along with my clothing. Oh, and my spellbooks.

I found out that I was a witch when I was 9. Until 3 years ago, at age 11, I was learning in the Salem Institute for Magic in Salem, New Hampshire – they start studies like any other elementary school, but don't allow a wand until middle school. They have a special ceremony in the summer between 6th and 7th grade where they give you your wand. They test you for the right one a few days before the end of 6th; the first time I held my wand (9 inches, oak, sturdy), I didn't want to let go of it, but I had to.

The day after, my dad decided to take us gallivanting all over the world. I was devastated, but I couldn't help it – they're my parents.

My parents aren't hot on the idea of me being a witch. After a certain occurrence (in which my room blew up – for the 7th time that week – when my parents were being…well, parents) they made relative peace with the situation, but were itching to get me out of the house, somehow. They don't hate me – they're just somewhat scared. They're stolid and plain, not the type of people that you'd expect to have a daughter like me. Maybe G-d does have a sense of humor.

Since leaving Salem, I haven't been in a magical school. I've been in middle schools in South Africa and Israel, but they were your run-of-the-mill schools. No professors or wands. I had to learn and contain my anger, seeing as blowing up the students would be kind of…awkward, to say the least. ("Um, Mrs. Smith? Your son's all over school, literally…")

My parents already had me signed up for a high school in Castlebar, but an owl attacked me as soon as we stepped out of the cab in front of our new home. It bore a letter to me telling me about a school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; they were inviting me to learn there. The school's in Scotland, so no big deal; it's also a dorm, so no problem with flying there constantly. I would have to catch up in many subjects and would be sorted along with the first years, but who cares? Things won't be blowing up around me for any reason anymore.

The kettle whistled; I turned off the burner and poured the water into the mug. The heavenly smell of coffee filled my nose. Ah, nothing like French vanilla to start your morning right.

After adding the sugar and milk, I took the mug to my room and set it on the desk. My desk faced the window that showed a view of our miniscule garden, choked tight with weeds. My mother was hoping to take care of the garden soon, as soon as she had the time, but knowing her, it will go wonky. My mom isn't exactly what you would call a green thumb.

The green calmed me, even if it didn't have big blossoms on the other side of them. The simple fact that something was thriving in the backyard, as lecherous as it might be, pleased me.

It might also be the fact that I knew that I would end up weeding the garden; my mom is much too lazy. Eh, as long as I benefit, I have no problem with it.

I drew the big tote I used as a carry-on on the plane towards me and took out my pencils and paper. My great hobby was drawing – sketching, more like it, nothing serious. I had a pretty rough technique, but it came off great in colored pencils. I always felt that my work looked like a little kid's drawings from kindergarten with a bit more…finesse. Drawing that way helped me keep my childish side to my art and my mature and rational side open to the outside world.

Regretfully, I had sent my set of professional colored pencils on the lift, so I had to wait until the lift would come in with everything. Meanwhile, I would make do with simple black lead pencils, and try to make milkweed look beautiful.

**thisisadivider.thisisadivider.thisisadivider**

"Moriah! Come here!"

My head jerked up from my arms, where it had been resting for the past 10 minutes or so. My lines were coming out wavy, I was so tired. Or maybe it was just my unconscious telling me that I had to get used to this place before I could truly draw it.

"What, Mom?" I called back groggily.

"There are some neighbors here to welcome us, look presentable!" she called back, and I groaned. Me, presentable? That was nearly impossible.

Still, I dragged a brush through my wavy hair and plodded into the living room, where the ugly table and mattress-that-served-as-a-couch glared at me as if to say, _Slob._ I sneered back at them and then turned my gaze to the door, where a stocky woman was standing, nervously fingering her rosary beads; my mother was standing beside her, looking weirded out.

Yeah. Did I mention the fact that I just sneered at inanimate objects? Yes. So.

I affixed a smile on my face and said in the most pleasant voice I could muster, "Hi, I'm Moriah Sangster, and you are…?"

"Patricia O'Toole," she said in a surprisingly deep voice. A smile bloomed on her face so suddenly, I nearly jumped back; when I composed myself, I decided, then and there, 2 things about this woman: a) Patricia O'Toole is the only woman I have ever seen that ages with remarkable grace and heaps of beauty, and b) – If I ever felt inclined to draw people, she would be my first subject.

"She brought us these flowers," my mother said, gesturing to the table where a bouquet of hothouse flowers lay on the scratched wood. "Patricia's a professional gardener," my mother added with a smile. "She agreed to help us with our little patch of land."

"Indeed," Patricia said in that voice of hers. She paced over to the window – that's right, paced – and peered out to the grubby patch. "I always knew this had potential," she said. "The previous owners were just never around long enough to utilize my advice." My mother raised an eyebrow at this, but stayed silent.

Patricia swiveled around. "I'll come by on Monday with some samples. If you want to, you can visit my greenhouse earlier. Goodbye!" And she walked out, leaving behind a smell of wet earth and an impression that Ireland was going to be a very, very nice place to stay.

At least – I hope we stayed long enough to like it.

**thisisadivider.thisisadivider.thisisadivider**

"I hate this time of day," I commented idly as I sliced cucumbers for dinner. The eternal salad was in its finishing stages, while something with tofu in it simmered on the stovetop. My mother was a neat freak, health freak, reality freak…every kind of imaginable freak. But I loved her all the same.

"Yes, well, at least you're not out on the streets," was my mother's absent-minded reply as she set the table. I raised an eyebrow at her but chose to stay silent; that was her response for every kind of complaint. Sometimes it created the funniest situations.

"I wonder if you have to make your own food at Hogwarts," I mused aloud as I tipped the contents of my cutting board into the salad bowl. "I'd love to be served."

My mother shot me a dirty look. "Sure, and you'll probably have maids to clean your rooms and big four-poster beds. Ooh, and don't forget the golden faucets!"

I doubled up with laughter just as my father walked in the door. He looked at me curiously; I just pointed at my mother and sent forth more peals of laughter, clutching my stomach.

All through the meal, my dad inquired me about safety rules, very obviously skirting around the reason. It wasn't hard to guess what his aim was – they all had to do with chemistry, something my dad was sure was going to be a primary subject in a magic school.

"Dad," I finally said, exasperated, when he showed signs of starting to test me on the periodic table, "there will be a Potions class, but we _will_ be learning other stuff. Please, I know how to treat chemicals." I tilted my head to one side. "I've been living with you for most of my life. I don't think Potions will be that hard."

He cleared his throat lightly and looked at me. "Promise me one thing," he said in his most serious voice.

I looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Don't go flying across the sky on a full moon on a broomstick. My poor heart won't be able to handle it."

I stared at him for a few moments, then cracked up. After a few seconds, my parents joined in, my father with his healthy chuckle and my mother with her…how to say it gently…cackling.

By the time we finished dinner and cleared it away, I was chuckling lightly. We were into the middle of August, and school-time was only a couple of weeks away. I still had to get my supplies, but I was basically ready for anything this strange school could throw towards me, with my mom joking about it and my dad doing the same.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

-----

Comments? Concrit? Anything?

I'd be happy to hear your thoughts.

-Gabrielle


	3. Chapter 2

So, the second chapter is finally up. Let us all rejoice. Sorry about the delay, but inspiration had to hit. The chapter may seem a little hurried; I'll try to put in more detail next time.

Enjoy! 

--- 

_Jes.us Saves! By using double coupons and shopping wisely._

"So, where are you going to find your school supplies? I highly doubt that you can find them here in Castlebar."

My mom's remark came at lunch on Saturday, a week before September 1st. I was drinking my ice coffee when she voiced her concern; I nearly choked.

"Sheet! I forgot!"

"They sent a list, remember? Check if they tell you where you can get the supplies," my mom advised and went back to digging into her salad. 

We were in Dublin, shopping for clothing. I was getting new stuff for Scotland, and my mom was adding to her collection of scarves. We were sitting in a café, having lunch. If you could call the rabbit food my mom insisted on ordering for the both of us 'lunch'. Thank G-d for Diet Coke, yes?

I went searching in my pockets for the envelope. (You might ask: how could the Hogwarts envelope fit onto a pocket? I wear pants with lots of enormous pockets because I hate pocketbooks.) I found it and flipped it open.

"Read it out loud," my mom said. I gave her a Look, and she didn't pursue it as I read it to myself.

I skipped the 'Dear Ms. Sangster' part – my last name creeps me out – and went to the list of school supplies I would need. A small note on the side pinpointed the shops I could get these supplies at. All of them were in a place called 'Diagon Alley'.

"Hey, look," my mom said, looking over my shoulder. "They say that Diagon Alley's near a pub called The Leaky Cauldron." She snorted. "In the middle of London. I wonder how it wasn't discovered yet?"

"It's magic, mom," I said with fake wonder, and cracked up at my own joke.

My mom stared at me and shook her head. "I'll book the flight to Heathrow." 

"So...what are we looking for?" my mom asked, confused, as I stood in front of the stores in downtown London, searching for some sign of this pub.

"The Leaky – aha!" I grinned and pulled my mom across the street, to the dingy sign that had appeared between two stores. A door emerged right after it, along with a doorstep. I pushed the door open, and pulled my mom in after me. 

The inside of the pub was dimly lit by windows that were near the ceiling, so you could almost call them skylights. The little light that filtered through gave the place a sleepy atmosphere; the sounds were far from sleepy though. The bar was alive with bustle, and the action by the back door was lively, as people in odd cloaks passed each other in a hurry, only stopping long enough to exchange a word or two of greeting.

The place would be like any normal London pub, if it weren't for the unexplainable things that were happening all over the place. Chairs were pulling themselves out for people who wanted to sit down; spoons were stirring people's hot beverages of their own accord; various objects were flying all over the place, and I swear that I saw at least 2 owls.

That cinched it for me. I've arrived at the right place. I marched up to the bar, towing my mom behind me. I had a feeling that she was staring with her mouth open. I turned around, and yes, she was. I kicked her in the shin; she woke up out of her stupor and shot me an evil Glare. I chose to ignore it.

Turning to the bar, I cleared my throat. The bartender glanced up while wiping a glass. "Can I help you, miss?" His tone was friendly. _He's a bartender, he_ has _to be friendly._

"Yes. I wanted to know if you could direct me towards...Diagon Alley?"

He stared at me for a few moments, obviously confused; then understanding dawned on his face and he smiled broadly. "Your first time to Hogwarts?" I nodded and he chuckled. "Welcome to the magical world. My name's Tom. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to the entrance." He motioned towards the doorway where the heavy traffic was coming from.

We followed him through the doorway and into the back yard; it was fairly small, with a few garbage cans and straggling weeds. Tom pulled a wand out of his robes and tapped on one of the many bricks that made up the walls that surrounded his yard.

As the bricks rearranged themselves to form an archway, Tom noticed my astonished expression and chuckled. "This is a wand," he explained, holding up what I had thought to be a pointer – like the kind they use to teach geography. "You can get one at Ollivanders', up the street." He gestured to the archway and smiled. "Good luck!"

_I know what a wand looks like, I've just never used one,_ I thought irritably as I stepped through the barrier with my mom. _Woah – speaking of sensory overload..._

The narrow street was full of people similarly garbed as the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron; the shops displayed wares in the windows and even set up stands outside the shops to display as much as possible to the public eye. Smells, colors, sounds, all blended into one busy, noisy, lively, _wonderful_, cacophony. I was home.

After all, everyone loves shopping, don't they?

Three hours later, my mom and I resembled bag ladies as we approached the wand shop. Huffing and puffing, my mom plopped down onto a bench outside. "You go in alone," she announced breathlessly. "I've had enough magic for one day."

I deposited the bags next to my mom and pushed the door open.

The shop was small, lined with shelves of boxed wands. I shivered in excitement; I've been anticipating this moment since I turned 11, and I was finally getting it, 6 years later.

"Hello," said a voice from behind me, and I jumped. I whirled around, and saw a man with wispy white hair and strange silver eyes staring at me. "Here for a wand?" he asked, and I nodded.

He flicked his own wand at a roll of measuring tape, which immediately started measuring every different place on my body.

"Wand hand?" 

"Right..."

"Try this one," he said, handing me a box and waiting expectantly. I opened it and took out the wand. "Willow, 7 inches with dragon heartstring." I waved it – nothing.

"Just a moment..." He snatched the box out of my hands, scurried into the bowels of his store, and came back after a minute with a tall pile of possible candidates.

"Try this one...oak, 11 inches, unicorn hair core...no? How about this one, then...ash, 9 and a half inches...not that either?" He was looking kind of desperate, and I was getting tired.

He snatched a box out of the middle of the pile, not seeming to care that the rest toppled down after it, and handed it to me with a flourish. "Try this – birch, 12 inches, dragon heartstring, versatile."

I grasped the wand, and the same sense of warmth that filled me when I held the wand back in the US filled me; I grinned and waved it. A shower of red sparks filled the air and the man smiled. 

"Congratulations, Miss...?"

"Sangster." 

"Congratulations, Miss Sangster. You found a wand faster than most people."

"Thanks," I said with a smile and exited the shop. My mom looked at me expectantly.

"Got it. I need to pay for it."

I re-entered the shop, paid the man, thanked him profusely again and continued down the street, bags back in hand.

We were sitting at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, sharing a banana split, when I saw the love of my life across the street.

He was resting in the shop window, on a pillow of velvet. He was polished, he was gleaming...and I wanted him.

When I dragged my mother to the shop and demanded the price from the salesman, my mom gaped. "Who would pay that much for a broom?" 

"Mom," I said, exasperated, "this is a magic broom. It FLIES. And I want it."

She firmly shook her head.

I tried to reason with her. "Think of it as the car that you wanted to get me for my 18th birthday, and I don't even have to pay for the gas. It's ecologically friendly!"

My mom raised an eyebrow. "It's made out of _wood_. You call that ecologically friendly? Besides, I don't want you up in the air."

Okay, now I know where my allowance is going...

Shite. Am I even GETTING an allowance?

----- 

Next chappie is the train! Woo hoo! 

Concrit? Comments? They're all welcome. )

To any fellow Je.ws out there – happy Rosh HaShana! ;

-Gabrielle


	4. Chapter 3

I got clobbered by inspiration, so here's the second chapter within 2 days. Kind of making up for lost time, really.

--------- 

_Reality is a big, nasty vicious dragon, but I don't believe in dragons._

"So we're just supposed to walk through the wall, and nothing's going to happen to us?" I raised my eyebrows at the diminutive girl standing in front of me. She blinked at me, and I could almost swear that I could feel a draft from the sheer length of her eyelashes. Is this school a charm school or something? Jeez, why does everyone here have to look like a model?

"Yup," she said. "We do anything in the magic world to keep ourselves secret." She took a slurp at her bottle of icy water, and I was suddenly attacked by an insane urge to have an icy bottle of something. _ psychological urges._

"Um, where's the wall?" I asked, and she gestured a few platforms forwards, to a stretch of sooty red brick with a sign bearing the number 9 on one side, and the number 10 on the other. I grinned when I saw the 9. I couldn't help it – ever since I read Lord of the Rings, every time I saw that number I smiled.

"We should go, honey," my mom said. "It's almost 10:30, and the ticket says 11."

I fixed my gaze on the girl and narrowed my eyes. _For all I know, she could sense that I'm new and want to initiate me this way._ "You go first, I want to see what happens."

Her indigo eyes darkened to black, and before I could utter a word, she hissed "Fine", turned her back to me and marched straight through the wall, a determined spring to her step and her trolley in front of her.

My mom sighed. "Great way to make friends, Moriah. A little tact next time won't hurt you."

All I could do was blink. Sheesh...if the British wizards are this secretive about their train depot, I wonder where they house their administration... 

"Sweetie, I have to go." I turned to my mom and gave her an enormous hug. "I won't be seeing you until Xmas. Send letters."

"Mom, the only way to send post from Hogwarts is by owl. Are you sure you want the neighbors—"

"I don't give a dam.n about what the neighbors think," my mom said forcefully, wiping a tear away from her eye. "As long as I hear from you at least twice a week, I don't give a flying eff what they think. They can spin tales that we're Satan worshippers, for all I care."

I smiled and hugged her again. Without shedding a tear, I turned and headed towards the barrier.

I walked through the barrier. As hard as it may have sounded, all I had to actually do was walk towards it, and I just...melted through. It felt weird, but not physically...just the thought of walking through something solid seemed weird to me.

(On the other hand, so did the idea of a school called Hogwarts. Really, think about that name. Would you ever go to a school called Catpostules? Really.)

I emerged onto a bustling platform full of steam, shouting and squawks. The place was full of people dressed in cloaks, robes and hats of every kind – a wardrobe alike to what I had in my own trunk – waving goodbye to their offspring, most of which were dressed in normal clothing and holding trunks and bags, usually topped by a cage with an owl or some sort of pet.

I stood there in wonder. _All this – and they keep it secret?_ How?

I came to my senses and moved hurriedly away from the wall behind me, narrowly missing a girl that was just running through the barrier. She was holding what looked like a fresh blueberry bagel in one hand and pulling her trolley with the other. When she ran past me, I could hear her muttering to herself and searching the crowd. Probably looking for a friend of hers. Her hair looked like it had a life of its own – sandy blonde with highlights, it was straight and she let it run wild. All in all, she looked crazy.

I pulled my luggage off the trolley and started towards the train, when I bumped into someone's back. Someone's very tall, muscled back. Someone that had dark, dark, dark brown hair – almost black – with a cowlick.

I swallowed. Hard. I have a huge thing for cowlicks.

He turned around, and I nearly fell. WOW was all my mind would think. I tried to urge it to give an order to my legs to move, but it wouldn't.

"Well, hello to you too," he said with a smile that flashed a row of straight, white teeth. That, coupled with his tan, blue-grey eyes and thick lashes, made him so swoon-worthy it wasn't even funny. It was quite scary, actually, that this guy had suck an advantage over me. I mean, his lashes were longer than MINE.

I gaped.

A frown creased his forehead, and he tilted his head to one side. "Are you okay?" 

"Uh – yeah. Yeah, sorry about – um – bumping into you." Don't you hate it, that when you see someone worthy of modeling and he speaks to you, you either lose your voice or it goes really, really squeaky?

He cocked a single eyebrow and smirked, and suddenly, I didn't really like him that much anymore. That smirk was EVIL. It reeked of conceit and ego. "Has a cat caught your tongue, or are you rendered speechless because of my looks?"

My eyes narrowed. _You little arrogant bas.tard._ "No," I said sweetly, perhaps a bit too sweet, since the guys standing in back of him sensed it and stepped back. "I was choking from the overpowering smell of bull chips that seems to be coming from you." Only, I didn't say bull _chips_. His eyes widened, and before he could think of something, the train whistled.

My eyes got wider than his were (a tough feat, believe me) and I charged forward, butting my way through the throng. My trunk was growing heavier by the minute, and my backpack bounced against my back as I jumped onto the train platform.

The train whistled for the second time, and I cringed and covered my ears. Boy, it was LOUD...

Someone pulled me into the train. Before I could scream, the same someone had pulled in my trunk for me. I nearly fell down when the train jerked into movement, but I was able to regain my balance by leaning onto the wall. I turned around to thank my savior...

Dam.n, not HIM.

"Anything else I can do for a damsel in distress?" He was grinning cockily now, in a way that pis.sed me off even more than I was already. I was about to open my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of him, when he held up a hand. "No need to thank me, I do it all the time."

Before my mind could really send this through the whole process line, my fist acted on its own volition; one moment it was curled tightly on my side, and then it was crashing into his perfect, standard nose.

He staggered back, uttering a pretty potent curse-word as he went, and held a hand to his nose. When it came away, it was bloody. He looked up at me with a look of astonishment; I stood there, flushed and out of breath, and smirked. Just like he did.

"Take that as a clue, buster," I said to him. "I am not the normal girl who would fall for your looks only. I don't really care what people think of me. In fact," and here I raised my voice so the rest of the inhabitants of the corridor (and there were a lot; most of the students haven't found seats yet, and even the ones that did had gathered to watch the show) could hear, "I don't give a flying—"

"I think you should stop it right there," said an authoritative voice from behind me. I turned around and saw the girl from the wall. She was dressed in the school robes already, and a shiny silver pin that sat on her left bre.ast said 'Head Girl'. Her indigo eyes flashed dangerously, and she wasn't exactly smirking like he was, but her whole _posture_ indicated smugness and satisfaction. Her hands were on her hips and her thick, glossy black hair was in a braid.

She looked around her, at all the students standing there, and cleared her throat. Immediately, everyone started shuffling away, running into compartments, and escaping the scene; within 3 minutes, the only people left there were she, he, and I.

"Great," I muttered. I was sweaty, messy, my hair was all over – and I just messed with the authorities. I smiled at her and stuck out a hand. She gave me a wide, blinding, obviously fake smile, and shook my hand firmly.

"I don't believe I introduced myself. Just a minute – Oliver, what the hel.l are you still doing here?" She sent a pointed glance his way, and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, glared at me, and slunk into the next compartment.

Oh. So that's his name.

"My name's Miranda Leigh Chandler. I'm your Head Girl. What year are you?"

"Seventh."

"Jes.us." She rolled her eyes. "You must be that transfer student Dumbledore told us about." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Let me make a few things clear," she said in a low voice. "I don't like you. That smile and handshake? I'm Head Girl, Head Girls have to keep up appearances. People who cause trouble like you just did without even getting to the castle yet are on my black list. Being on the Head Girl's black list is a BAD IDEA. You better hope you're not in Ravenclaw, by the way. I will make your life hel.l."

"What did I ever do to you?" I asked heatedly. She laughed. Threw back her head and laughed. If she was a guy, I would kick her below the belt and she would never forget it.

"You're new to Hogwarts, you ask me to tell you how to get to this platform, and you don't believe me. How would you feel if someone did that to you? Usually, first years are ecstatic when you tell them how to get through."

I got my nose an inch away from hers and snarled at her. "Let me make two things clear: one, just because stupid first year pipsqueaks kiss your feet when you throw a glance your way, doesn't I will sink that low." I saw her stricken expression quicly darken and morph into fury. "And second – I don't like you either. Wait a second – I have another one. My right hook is pretty mean, so keep in my good graces and I'll _consider_ not beating you to a pulp."

I whirled around, hitting her with my hair, and stormed down the hall, my trunk behind me and my face red with embarrassment and anger.

"You just threatened me, you b!tch!" I heard Miranda shriek from behind me. In response, I made a rude hand gesture; she shrieked in indignation.

Great way to begin a year, no? off the head girl, break a hot guy's nose, have everyone in the school see you as an animalistic freak...I stormed down the hallway, looking for an empty compartment. The ones that weren't full were hastily made to look so, and I sighed. 

Dropping my trunk, I sat down in the hallway and leaned against the wall facing the compartments. _Guess I'll settle here for now._ I fished my copy of _The Silmarillion_ out of my bag and started re-reading it.

Suddenly the door in front of me opened, and a girl peeked out. She had warm brown eyes and the most beautiful blonde, straight hair I have ever seen. She smiled at me. "Hey, my name's Court. D'you want to sit with us?" 

I looked at her with a 'give me a break' look. "After the display in the hallway, are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

She shrugged. "I don't really care. You seem interesting. Besides," and here she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "she deserved it."

I grinned and accepted her outstretched hand. I pulled myself to my feet and entered the compartment.

It's nice to know that some people are just plain _nice_.


End file.
